Run (Caged Trilogy Book 1)

by H G Lynch

  Confused by the butterflies in my stomach, I pulled my hand back slowly, staring at my fingers as if I’d never seen them before. “Sorry,” I muttered, scrunching the dishtowel in my hands. I kept my eyes on my bare toes, not able to force myself to look at him quite yet, but I heard him put down the glass.

  “Don’t be,” he said quietly, and I looked up.

  I clamped down on another gasp. He was closer than I’d realised, just inches away, and his green eyes were glowing with a warmth that made the butterflies in my stomach turn into bats. He was so close, I could smell the scent of leaves and soap on his skin, the sharp tang of oranges from his shampoo.

  “Huh?” I squeaked, wincing internally at how stupid I sounded.

  Dominic’s mouth tilted up, but there was no cute dimple. He didn’t look cute anymore. He looked…he looked more like Spencer. I could see the features they shared, the features their father had given them, in the slope of his nose and the shape of his eyebrows, in the way his lashes shadowed his eyes as he lowered them to look down at me.

  Dominic lifted a hand, his fingers brushing mine where I was clamping the dishtowel hard enough to tear it in half. I tried to take a deep breath as a slow heat spread from my fingers along my arm and down into my stomach, but the air tasted like fresh ferns, oranges and something far more intangible.

  “I meant, don’t be sorry,” he said, his voice husky as his fingertips trailed up my un-bandaged arm.

  It took my hazed, distracted mind far too long to work out he was talking about the glass…or maybe he wasn’t. From the look on his face, I couldn’t be sure.

  I realised he’d moved us without me even noticing. My back was against the edge of the counter, and he had one hand braced against the edge of the sink, blocking me in on one side, while his other hand continued to glide up my arm. My heart pounded in an unfamiliar rhythm, not with fear or exertion.

  Dominic’s fingertips slid up over my shoulder, up the curve of my neck, and rested against my jaw, tipping my face up a little. My eyes went to his mouth, and his lips twitched in response. His body was barely an inch from mine, leaning over me, my chest brushing his with every rapid breath I took.

  I knew he was going to kiss me, and I was filled with equal parts longing and anxiety. It was Dominic for God’s sake, my friend. I didn’t like him that way…did I? How would I know? I’d never even had a crush before, but maybe that’s what the nervous warmth jittering through my gut was.

  Dominic started to bend his head to mine, leaning in so his body pressed against mine from hip to chest, and I closed my eyes, lifting my chin instinctively. I felt the ghost of his breath on my lips, then the light pressure of his mouth just barely touching mine. A soft spark clicked in my stomach, a shudder rolling through my spine as my lips parted, trailing in a shaking breath. The hand he’d been holding the sink with came up and pressed flat against the small of my back, holding me to him. The pressure of his mouth increased, still chaste but testing, asking permission for more.

  I don’t know whether or not I would have granted him permission, because just at that moment, the door to the cabin burst open and we sprang apart. As I jerked away, my elbow caught the glass Dominic had set down on the counter and knocked it to the floor. This time, his reflexes weren’t quite fast enough to snag it before it smashed into wet, sudsy shards on the wooden floorboards. I guessed he was just as dazed as I was, but he recovered faster than I did, spinning around to see who had intruded onto our moment so violently.

  Blushing, I raised my gaze to see Desmond, thin-lipped and unhappy, standing in the doorway with one hand on the handle. His eyes were narrowed on his brother, but his wavy hair was windblown, and his clothes were slightly rumpled, as if he’d been running through the trees to get to us.

  The two boys stared at each other, Des glaring and Dominic innocently, and I got the feeling they were having some sort of silent discussion I wasn’t a part of. Seeing that they weren’t going to loop me into the conversation, I cleared my throat. Desmond glanced at me and frowned, a line of embarrassment forming around his mouth. He looked back to his brother as if he couldn’t stand to meet my gaze.

  “Dom, have you seen Spencer? He’s missing again, and after last night, we think he might be—” Desmond shot me another glance and jerked his head toward the door. “Can we talk outside?” he asked his brother in a vaguely pleading voice.

  I blinked, offended that he would come bursting into my cabin without knocking, interrupting me and Dominic, and then try to exclude me from whatever he’d burst in to say.

  Irked, I put my hands and my hips and glared at him. “So Spencer’s gone again, huh? Anybody check by the stream, ‘cause he seems to end up there a lot.” Actually, I was a lot more worried than I sounded. Desmond had mentioned something had happened. I knew what, but I didn’t see how it would relate to Spencer being gone, unless he’d run into Olivia before I had. Olivia wouldn’t have hurt him unless he gave her reason, though, so maybe Spencer’s disappearance was totally unrelated—just Spencer being Spencer. But what if it wasn’t? What if he’d run into Olivia, and she’d done something to him? What if she’d—no, she wouldn’t have killed him. I hoped.

  Desmond made a noise of either irritation or shame, and his eyebrows tilted up. He looked beseechingly at Dominic, who was standing with his arms crossed and his sleeves still rolled up, though he’d dried his hands. He looked concerned, and his lips pressed thin.

  “Dom, please?” Des jerked his head toward the door again.

  I resisted the urge to snap at him.

  After a second of consideration, Dominic glanced at me apologetically and nodded briskly. “Sorry, Tilly. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  I didn’t reply, but Dominic nodded to himself as he and Desmond left, shutting the door on their way out.

  Once they were gone, I let out a deep, uneasy breath and leaned forward, clutching the edge of the counter opposite me. With a groan, I laid my head down on the cool countertop and folded my hands over the back of my skull, grasping handfuls of hair between my tense fingers.

  “Damn!” I spat, not sure if I was cursing about Dominic kissing me, or the possibility that Spencer was missing because he’d run into Olivia. I felt faintly sick, I was developing a throbbing headache at my temples, and I wanted some time to work out what the hell I was thinking in kissing Dominic back. Stupid, stupid move. I couldn’t let him get that attached, especially not now that the witches probably knew I was staying there. The closer he was, the closer they all were, the more danger they were in. I had to keep Dominic at a distance, but the idea of pushing him away made me feel terrible, so I shoved the idea aside for the moment.

  First of all, I needed to go find Spencer—again—to make sure Olivia hadn’t turned him into a frog or something.

  Slipping out my bedroom window, so Dominic and Desmond wouldn’t see me if they were still hanging about out front, I headed into the trees. I kept a watchful eye out, knowing others were probably out there looking for Spencer, too. I don’t know why I was bothering, seeing as I was probably the last person who would be able to find him, but I felt like I had to try. I felt responsible in a way. If Olivia had gotten to him, and he was somewhere in the trees, hurt, it would be my fault. Olivia never would have been anywhere near the cabins if I hadn’t been there.

  I knew I should have left before! Now it’s too late. They know these people helped me.

  Shaking the thought away, I focused on scanning the area around me, listening for sounds of someone hurt, cries for help, or anything that might tell me where Spencer was. I was listening so hard that I forgot to pay attention to where I was putting my feet, and I tripped over a raised tree root, toppling onto my hands and knees. With a hiss of surprise more than pain, I pulled myself to my feet again and wiped my hands on my jeans. I looked up, and then I saw it.

  Straight ahead of me, barely visible through the branches, my wolf was slinking back and forth, apparently pacing. I watched for a moment, a si
gh of relief lifting from my chest. I hadn’t realised, until then, that I’d been worried about my wolf. I was ridiculously glad that Olivia clearly hadn’t maimed it. Though, I did have to wonder if my wolf had killed Olivia. It was a dark thought, but one I kind of enjoyed, if only for a moment.

  Then I was moving toward my wolf, not quite sure what I planned to do, but wanting to make sure it really was my wolf, and that it really was okay. Something was bugging it. Wolves didn’t normally pace like that. In fact, did wolves ever pace? I didn’t know. It made me anxious, watching it.

  The closer I came, the more anxious I became. The ebony wolf had stopped pacing, and was standing perfectly still. I could see it wasn’t alone—there were two men facing it, both holding guns. I felt a wave of déjà vu sweep over me, and as I stepped up beside my wolf, I even recognised one of the men as the guy I’d scared off the other day. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten the message after all, and he was back for more. He flinched, though, when I stepped into view. The guy next to him was taller, bulkier, and his eyes narrowed on me, jaw clenching.

  “Neil, that’s her! That’s the crazy girl!” The shorter man, the one I’d knocked on his ass, said to the big guy. He cringed when my glare fell directly on him.

  The tall guy, dressed in much the same way as the short guy, but with a red cap instead of orange, and a green jacket, eyed me with one lip curled scornfully. He made an unimpressed noise. “She don’t look so tough, Jack. And we’re not here for her anyways. We’re here for the wolf, and unless Little Miss Tree Hugger there wants to get her head blown off, she’s not going to get in the way this time.”

  I bristled at the indirect threat, and so did my wolf. The wolf bared its fangs, a low rumbling growl building in its chest. I put my hand on its soft fur, feeling its ribs vibrate under my fingers.

  “If either of you as much as twitch, if you even think about raising those guns, I’m going to make you regret it. So how about you just walk away now and leave the nice little wolf alone. Jack is it? Yeah, you. You know what I can do. Maybe you can convince your friend it’s in his best interest to leave now.” I planted my hands on my hips, drawing myself up as tall as I could. My fingers were still hooked in the wolf’s bristling fur, giving the impression I controlled it and could set it loose on them at any moment. I didn’t and couldn’t, of course, but after the night before, I suspected that if either of them raised their guns toward me, my wolf would tear them apart before they could pull the trigger. My wolf protected me, and I could only assume it was because it remembered I had saved its life.

  Neil, the tall guy, barked a gruff laugh at me. “Get out the way, little girl. This wolf needs to be put down.” He raised his shotgun, levelling the barrel at my wolf’s head.

  I remembered the terrifying feeling of staring down that barrel, less than a pound of pressure on the trigger was all that stood between me and a bullet to the brain. I still moved in front of my wolf, even as a cold knot of fear clotted in my throat. The tall guy looked a little surprised at my boldness, but like his partner before him, he didn’t lower his gun. Jack, the short guy, however, was backing away slowly, trying not to attract my attention.

  I shook my head, curling my hands into fists so they wouldn’t see them shaking. “I’m not letting you shoot the wolf, so you might as well just leave.”

  The tall man grunted and pulled the trigger. I jumped, a scream catching in my throat as the bullet skimmed past the air inches from my head and exploded into the trunk of the tree behind me. With wide eyes, I stared at him, heart galloping. My knees wobbled, and there was a ringing in my ears. My wolf pulled against my grasp on its fur, snarling viciously, and Neil stumbled back a step from its snapping, slobbering jaws. His aim didn’t falter though, and he tried to shoot again before I could get in front of the wolf. He missed, but only barely. My breath was wheezing in my chest, and it took me too long to jump in front of my wolf again, my mind too stunned by the fact that the guy had nearly goddamn shot me.

  Fury rising up over fear, I narrowed my eyes at the tall man, feeling the rush of power building up inside me. He reloaded his gun, snapped it shut, and re-aimed. The sound of it clicking broke my fragile hold on my temper. The power shot out of me like a stone from a slingshot, hurtling straight toward the hunter. A bright ball of electric light, pure power, slammed into him before he could utter a yell.

  With a thud, he hit the ground, skidding back amongst the leaves until he hit a tree headfirst. There was a blackened patch on his shirt where the power had burned him, his eyes were closed, and his jaw slack, but his chest was still rising, slightly and erratically. He was alive but unconscious. His gun lay in the spot where he’d been standing, where he’d dropped it.

  After a moment of consideration, I started to move toward it, figuring I might need it at some point. I’d never used a gun in my life, but at least if I had it, they didn’t. One less weapon for the idiot hunters to use against my wolf. I wasn’t letting anyone hurt him.

  Suddenly, another shot rang out, startling birds from the trees and making me drop to my knees hard, my hands covering my head. After a moment of panicked gasping and certainty that I’d been shot, I realised I hadn’t been. Tentatively, I looked up, uncovering my head, and my eyes fell on the man slumped against the tree. He was still unconscious, and his gun still lay three feet away from me. Confused, I looked around, and I spotted a bright spark of orange darting away through the trees—the short guy’s cap.

  I’d thought he’d run off before, but he hadn’t, he’d been circling round for a better shot. I knew he hadn’t missed, because I could hear my wolf whimpering. Terror clutched at my heart with ice cold fingers, and I whirled. My wolf was lying on the ground, thrashing, strangled plaintive wails and yelps emitting from its throat. The leaves under it were pooling red with blood. The bastard had shot my wolf.

  Without thinking, I dropped to my knees next to the wolf, forgetting about the huge claws and snapping teeth that could tear me apart in seconds. I knew it wouldn’t hurt me. With shaking hands, I felt over its fur, wet and sticky with blood, for the bullet hole. My hands were shaking so badly, I don’t know how I found the wound, but I did. I willed my hands to be steady, taking deep, gasping breaths, in time with the wolf’s heaving sides. Feeling panic and shock setting in, I knew I needed to delay them, so I could get this done.

  I let the tugging fingers of the energy around me seep into my body, smoothing out the jitters in my nerves and steadying my hands to only trembling a little. Then I gulped a breath of air tainted with musky wolf and the tang of blood, and shoved my fingers into the wound. The wolf whimpered, a soft breathless howl escaping its jaws, but it held still and didn’t try to rip my head off. Gagging, I felt around in the wound, pushing my fingers deeper into the warm, liquid mess of blood and flesh, until my I brushed something hard and surprisingly cold. I bit my lip hard as I fought to grab hold of the slippery bullet. It squirmed out of my fingers, and I tried again. Finally, I got a good grip. Carefully, slowly, I eased the bullet out, and it emerged from the wolf’s flesh with a sickening wet slurping sound. Letting out a long breath of relief that sounded more like a sob than a sigh, I tossed the evil, mashed bullet into the leaf litter as far my trembling arm could throw.

  I still had one hand on the wolf’s side, and the minute the bullet was removed, the wolf spasmed violently. The bloody fur under my hand rippled, melting away into skin, and I gasped, jumping to my feet in shock. I backed away from the writhing animal as its bones cracked with wet popping sounds, as loud to my ears as the gunshots, its body deforming and shrinking, limbs reshaping, sleek black fur rolling away into pale human flesh. It was all over quickly, but it felt as if it took an eternity before the gorgeous, injured wolf gave way to a gorgeous, injured boy.

  The boy shuddered, rolling up onto his hands and knees, shaking with racking coughs. He spat blood and slumped back in a half-sitting, half-lying position, bracing his hands on the blood soaked leaves. I stared, breathing hard, numb except fo
r the painful trembling taking over my muscles. The boy looked up at me from under dirty black hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, gazing with frantic, but perfectly human blue eyes. He was naked, and one side of his chest was smeared with a gory coating of crimson blood from the shoulder down. There was no visible wound for the blood to have come from—the bullet wound had already healed.

  Somehow, I found, I still had the capacity to be embarrassed by his nudity, even if he wasn’t. I looked away quickly, my throat working. Looking down, I saw my hands, limp by my sides, quivering and soaked in blood to the wrists. The wolf’s blood. Spencer’s blood. It was on my jeans and my t-shirt, and somehow, it had gotten into the ends of my hair. I was covered in blood. I might have felt better if it were at least my own.

  Spencer lifted a hand toward me, opening his mouth to say something, but I flinched back, stumbling over a root and falling against a tree. I slid down the trunk, scraping my back on the rough bark and not caring, and then I sat there, staring at my hands. I couldn’t look at Spencer. He didn’t move again, didn’t try to talk to me or explain. He just sat across from me and watched as I shook.

  I closed my eyes.

  I must have zoned out for a while, still awake but not really there, lost in the darkness behind my closed lids and still trembling. Distantly, I was aware of people around me, moving and yelling, some just talking, maybe talking to me, but the words were meaningless in my ears. I felt someone lifting me, and I was too tired to protest. My limbs flopped like a badly jointed doll’s, and I felt the gentle rocking of footsteps under me. It was a relaxing motion. Combined with the exhaustion of shock and adrenaline wearing off and the kind waves of energy from the woods pulsing into me, it was enough to lull me to an unconsciousness filled with nightmares and the sounds of cracking bones.